Icebound
by Selena
Summary: Spring of 1933: Mitch and Stasi hadn't planned on spending their honeymoon dodging bears and icebergs. But the pilot supposed to do the hair raising stunt flying on the German-American movie "SOS Iceberg" has fallen sick, the leading lady may or may not be possessed, and there is a ghost bent on revenge involving the new German leader... (An "Order of the Air" Fanfiction)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : Characters and situations owned by Melissa Scott and Jo Graham.

 **Time Line** : Shortly after _Silver Bullet_ , in the spring of 1933.

 **Thanks to** : Kathyh, taming this particular bear.

 **Author's note** : For the various real life events and people (i.e. any character not Mitch, Stasi or Henry), see the historical footnotes at the end.

* * *

 **Icebound**

 _An "Order of the Air" story_

I.

Mitchell Sorley hadn't planned to spend his honeymoon risking his life between clashing icebergs, but then, he hadn't planned to have a honeymoon in the first place, and sometimes things just worked out that way.

When he married Stasi a few days after they shocked the town by performing the Apache dance at the American Legion, it had come as a surprise to everyone, including Mitch and Stasi. And there simply hadn't been time for something like a honeymoon just then; they decided to postpone it until things were more settled at Gilchrist Aviation, with the full awareness this probably meant never. But then, not three months later, Henry Kershaw called and asked for a favour. Not a favour from all of them; Henry specifically asked for Mitch and Stasi.

Having turned down an immensely generous job offer from Henry as the last year had come to a close, Mitch felt slightly guilty about him, which would have made him receptive in any case, but the fact that Henry, who thanks to Stasi having robbed him during their first encounter was no admirer of hers, expressed a wish she'd come along to whatever Henry needed them to do was doubly intriguing. And the fact of the matter was, Henry always paid well. The Depression was still ongoing.

Henry, as it turned out, had a twofold reason for needing them, and they both involved the same film production. "More than half of Universal Film sales were overseas," Henry said, "so when the talkies arrived, they were in danger of losing that audience. This friend of mine, Paul Kohner, had the idea of shooting the same movie in several languages - English and German, English and French, English and Spanish, depending on what the main target audience was. Carl Laemmle loved it and made Paul head of Universal Germany, but Carl Jr. hates his guts; they've got some long time rivalry going. And now Paul has this incredibly expensive production, the most expensive thing he's ever done, in Greenland of all the places, with a crazy German director who is famous for throwing avalanches at his cast. Which usually seems to work out, believe it or not, as in no one's died so far. But this movie's plot rests on Ernst Udet playing himself saving people from the Pole with some heroic flying. And Ernst Udet has just fallen sick."

"Hang on", Mitch said. "Udet as in the ace?"

Henry nodded, and Mitch felt something inside stir. Of course he knew who Udet was. The highest scoring German fighter pilot to survive the war, and the second highest scoring overall after Manfred von Richthofen. Mitch had never encountered him in the air, but Lewis had, and lived to tell the tale. According to him, Udet's reputation was, if anything, understated.

"I see your friend's problem, darling," Stasi said, and Henry gave her a dark look.

"Finding a flying ace on short notice who can roughly match Udet for some stunt flying between glaciers is just half of Paul's problem," he replied. "The other part is that he thinks the movie's leading lady is possessed by a Dybbuk."

It was only noticeable if you knew Stasi really well, because she had one of the best poker faces Mitch had ever encountered, but something in her expression shifted.

"I see," she said again, somewhat coolly. Mitch, an avowed reader of _Weird Tales_ and veteran member of a Lodge, nonetheless couldn't say he did as well; he'd never heard of a Dybbuk before. On the other hand, he could read Stasi by now, and he could make an educated guess. Just in case, though, he probed, turning to Henry: "And a Dybbuk is..."

"A dislocated spirit of a dead person, according to Paul Kohner. He's from Teplitz in Bohemia, and it seemed there was a case when Kohner was a boy," Henry said softly, and Mitch grew cold. He also understood, a little better than he wanted to, why Henry wanted to help this friend of his. Some years ago, it had been Henry himself who'd been possessed by a malignant spirit, and people had died, gruesomely. If Mitch had ever thought this was something you could leave behind, he'd found out differently when it had been his own turn, or so it had seemed at the time; when all signs had pointed towards the year he couldn't remember having been filled with murder. As it then turned out, it had been his friend Jeff, not Mitch, who'd been the killer, but between all Jeff had meant to him and the fact he still couldn't remember most of that year, Mitch felt less than reassured of his own sanity and self possession. He certainly could understand why Henry, who had to live with the unambiguous knowledge his body had been taken and used in the worst way, would want to help anyone in a similar situation.

Stasi fished for a cigarette in her purse, and Mitch lit it for her. She only inhaled once, then passed it to him, not by handing it over but by putting it between his lips. There was an intimacy in that gesture that still felt new, startling, even, and not for the first time, he wondered whether he'd ever get used to this.

"And _why_ does he think she's possessed, your friend?" Stasi enquired. There was a faint line between her eyebrows. Stasi could speak to the dead; it was her gift. She was also a brilliant confidence woman, and Mitch loved the challenge of discerning the truths amongst all the endlessly inventive lies about her past she told. But she never lied about the dead.

"To be honest, it might just be because he's had a fling with her, and he's getting married to someone else this year, so he's touchy about his past love life maybe threatening that. But I don't think so. Paul's a down to earth kind of guy, most of the time. He's not - well, one of us. Not a member of any Lodge. He knows I am, but then, I'm not secretive about it, and it's one reason why he came to me with this. He says she's - the actress, that is - she's changed. And not in a normal way. After meeting someone, and here's the kicker: not someone from the industry. A politician. And Paul swears she was never into politics before. Too set on making it in the movies, that one, practically burning with ambition. And then she meets that man, and it's Jekyll and Hyde time, female version. The thing is, he can't fire or replace her or make her take off some time so some doctor could check up on her."

"Is she that good?" Mitchell asked, now more amused than scared, because to him, it sounded more like Henry's friend simply got dumped in favour of a more powerful man and didn't want to admit it. "Even possessed?"

To his surprise, Henry shook his head. "Nah. She's that fearless. Remember that I told you the director is crazy? Well, she did several movies with him already. Shooting in extreme locations is his stick. She's crazy as well, that one. Absolutely fearless, Paul says. And that's why they can't replace her, not in this kind of movie where her character is risking her life all the time. There are dozens of actresses who can deliver better performances, but none who'd do that, no matter the salary. There's just one Leni Riefenstahl."


	2. Chapter 2

II.

When she'd accepted Alma Gilchrist Segura's offer, both of work and a place to stay, Stasi hadn't intended to stay long. She'd been grateful, not least because she needed to lie low for a while, and she actually liked these people. But she certainly hadn't seen herself settling down in Colorado Springs for the rest of her life.

She hadn't seen herself falling in love, either.

Having a fling, absolutely. But deeper emotions only got you killed, or worse: found out. Found out, stripped bare of all those carefully built personae she'd cultivated and needed for survival. Yet somehow, it had happened. She'd fallen for Mitch, only it hadn't felt like falling as much as it had felt like dancing, depending on each other for each exhilarating step and twirl, and on all the mutual work it took to make those twirls look effortless. When he'd asked her to marry him after that incredibly satisfying first night, she'd said yes, and hadn't regretted it yet, but three months later, there were times when she looked at herself and saw a stranger. What had happened to never wanting to be tied down again? And to a man who managed to be both wholesome enough to be someone's childhood hero and so deeply damaged that she'd once found him in a fugue state where he had barely recalled his own name.

The way he smiled at her warmed her from the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair, but there was something in her that whispered, too, whispered: _Run. Run now. This can't last, and if you don't leave now, you'll only have more poisoned memories._

The thing was, he'd run with her. For all that he gave the impression of being reliability incarnate, there was a crazy streak in Mitch to match hers. Just look at him now, enthralled at the prospect of doing some stunt flying above the icebergs, and maybe that was just for the joy of flying, and maybe it was because he had a shot at proving he could match an old enemy in skill, but he'd wanted to do it even before Henry Kershaw had added that story about possible possession and a Dybbuk.

"How about it, Miss Stasi?" he said, when they were alone. "It could be our honeymoon."

"Among icebergs and polar bears," Stasi said. "Darling, I thought you'd never ask."

Truth to tell, it did appeal to her, and would have in most circumstances, but there was something she hadn't yet decided to tell Mitch about. He thought chances were the actress Henry's friend was worried about wasn't possessed, but it couldn't hurt to make sure, and Stasi could do that while Mitch would have a go in Ernst Udet's apparently famous plane called "Moth". Stasi, on the other hand, was already as sure as she'd ever be that Leni Riefenstahl was entirely Dybbuk-free, and the reason she was so sure before ever meeting the woman was that there'd been a dead person standing next to Henry Kershaw the entire time Henry had pitched this job at them. It hadn't been easy, carrying on two conversations at the same time, but then, Stasi had practice.

"Look," the ghost had told her, speaking German with a strong Berlin accent, "all I want is a ride to Greenland. I don't have anything against Paul Kohner, he's a nice guy, but he was my one chance to make the trip, that's why I kept whispering in his ear, and it was enough of a connection so I could go with him from Berlin to Los Angeles. Then I switched to this Fritz here, because he's practically reeking of being usable. He's been used before, right? Anyway, there's something I need to do before I can move on. There really is. So what do you say, doll? Give a guy a break."

Stasi was used to bargaining with the Dead. She did the occasional favour for free, too, if she felt like it, but she didn't do so blindly. What the ghost had been done with Paul Kohner and Henry, and what he just asked her for, wasn't possession, it was the psychic equivalent of hitchhiking; her past experience warned her, though, that this might not be the end of his demands.

"When and how?" she asked, meaning when and how did the dead man from Berlin die, though both Henry and Mitch thought she was enquiring about travel arrangements. While Henry proceeded to explain that because the production had already been delayed and was running over budget, Mitch and Stasi would not, like the rest of the film team, be able to take the boat to Greenland but would have to fly, in the latest Terrier model that Republic, Henry's company, had to offer, the ghost grimaced. "Got killed while visiting a dancing palace," he said. "Would you believe that? Me and my mates were just having a good time, and in storm these thugs to beat us up. There were about twenty of us who got wounded. Three died. Including me. Thing is, I want to get justice, and believe it or not, travelling to that damn film set will get me that. Be a pal, take me with you. You and your man here, you're practically beacons, you can give me a lift without raising a sweat."

Stasi knew when ghosts were lying to her. This one wasn't. She could have told both Henry and Mitch right then and there, of course. But holding back information was the habit of a lifetime with her. It had literally saved her life more often than not. And besides, she suspected Henry Kershaw still held something of a grudge about that time when she'd relieved him of a cursed necklace. If he thought she was doing him and his friend Kohner a favour by investigating an actress for possession by a dead spirit, well, it would soothe any remaining feathers, surely, and given that he got Gilchrist Aviation their most lucrative gigs, that was all for the best.

She could tell Mitch. But Mitch wasn't a good liar and might think the whole thing underhanded. Also, she wanted to prove to herself that falling in love hadn't changed her _that_ much. She was still herself. She was.

"Well, then, darling," Stasi said. "I suppose it's up, up, and away!"


	3. Chapter 3

III.

Because time was of the essence, Mitch and Stasi didn't find out more details about the movie and the production people until they, and a hastily packed set of warm clothing, were up in the air, and Stasi had the time to read through the file Henry had given them to brief them more thoroughly on the background. She treated Mitch to selected highlights, presented in the accent she used to employ when playing a Countess.

The director Mitch was to report to was called Arnold Fanck, to be addressed as _Dr._ Fanck, famous for founding an entire genre nicknamed "mountain movies". These had been international hits in the silent era, which was why Paul Kohner had been negotiating with Fanck for an American-German co-production since 1928. Neither Stasi or Mitch had actually seen a Fanck mountain movie, so they had no opinion on them, but the fact Fanck shot these on location and didn't bother with stuntmen meant he and his actors did sound somewhat mad.

"Our sort of people," Stasi said in her best pretentious lilt, though having to do this loudly enough to be heard in the cockpit of a flying air plane did spoil the effect somewhat.

One of Fanck's greatest hits, the success of which Kohner hoped to repeat with this new production, had presented a simple plot of mountaineers in distress and Ernst Udet, playing himself, coming to their rescue, which had afforded cinema goers with the chance to see both breathtaking landscapes and amazing air plane stunts. Because Fanck didn't want to do a simple remake, this new movie would have its heroes stranded not in the Alps but among the icebergs as members of a polar expedition, and while Udet would still come to the rescue, the movie's heroine, played by Leni Riefenstahl, would also be a pilot, trying to save her husband and crashing with her own plane in an earlier rescue attempt. At this point, Stasi lost the accent.

"Udet was supposed to fly a plane directly into an iceberg," she said, sounding oddly subdued for Stasi. "Making it look like she's doing it, then she jumps out for the camera, then he jumps out in the last minute. I'm starting to wonder whether this sudden sickness wasn't sheer survival instinct. And whether Henry wants to get rid of you."

"Just because I turned down his job offer? That's a bit harsh," Mitch replied, distracted from the prospect of having to fly a future plane into an iceberg by the current beauty he was piloting, the fact that this flight to Greenland would be one of the longest he'd had to handle on his own, and that being in a plane with the woman he loved was ridiculously like the fantasies he used to have before the war had left him in a state that made him believe fantasies would be all he'd ever have of anyone ever again.

Henry's file also contained the advice to tread carefully because it seemed relationships among the crew and cast were somewhat tense. Two of the original German actors in the cast had been replaced by Americans for the US audience, with scenes involving their characters having to be reshot, Fanck and Kohner were still fighting about the ending because Fanck had pronounced the ending Kohner wanted as pure kitsch, then there was bad blood between Fanck and his leading lady because he fancied himself her Pygmalion while she'd wanted to strike out on her own as a director and had in fact done so. But her debut movie had flopped last year, and she'd only taken the job because she needed the money.

"Basically, Udet seems to be the only one getting along with everyone else, and he's sick," Stasi finished.

"Well, we're not going to help them with their relationships," Mitch said philosophically. "I'm going to try not to get myself killed in Udet's plane, and you're checking out this actress for possession. Once we've done that, I'm hoping for whales. Have you ever seen one?"

"No, I don't think they had those when I was holidaying with Cousin Nikki on the Krim, darling," Stasi said, and Mitch grinned, then considered whether or not it was possible that this international film team included any Russians. Surely Henry would have mentioned that in the file. Would he? Then again, Stasi could wing anything, and he wasn't about to tell her to tone down her act. He was enjoying it too much.

"What about Dybbuks?" he asked. "Ever met one of those?"

She was silent. Which Mitch interpreted to mean she had, and didn't want to talk about it. It had to have been a serious encounter if she didn't at least invent a colourful lie about it. Sometimes he wondered whether he was handling this correctly; whether he shouldn't insist more, push for more truths. But it just felt wrong to him. It had been a game between them at first, discerning the occasional truth between her lies, and then truth had been a gift from her, telling him without any prompting. At least, that was how it had worked when they'd been friends.

The rules were supposed to be different for husband and wife. Except for the part that if this was the theory, what practice Mitch had been able to observe hadn't exactly confirmed it. In his own childhood, his mother had been the one insisting on truth all the time, and more often than not had been unhappy when she got it. He didn't want anything like his parents' marriage, and certainly not with Stasi, who was unlike anyone he'd ever known. There was a part of him still wondering whether he'd made her up, along with the life he was leading, doing what he loved, flying planes and saving the world with his friends. Maybe the reason why there were still parts of his life he couldn't recall was because he was truly mad, locked up somewhere and living a fantasy inside his head.

That was plausible enough for Mitch to shudder.

Stasi noticed and seemed to draw the wrong conclusions. "No self respecting Dybbuk would get into an actress," she said. "Dybbuks prefer people who don't lie for a living, because they like to be noticed, and nobody sees anything unusual in actors behaving like they're someone else. So I'm afraid we won't meet one in Greenland, darling. You don't mind, do you?"

"Not really," he said, smiling at her. "As long as you don't get bored."


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

The film people were dispersed into three camps. The main camp was near a small town named Umanak, but because there were currently too many ice floes in the bay for the sea planes to land safely there, there was a second camp at Igloswid where Udet, his engineer and the camera man responsible for the air plane footage were staying, and a third at Nuljarfik where the director, Arnold Fanck, was residing. Igloswid was a hundred kilometres away from Umanak, and apparently the main method of communication had consisted of Udet, before his sickness, flying to pick up the mailbag hung up by Fanck on a large pole using a hook and a line like an angler. Udet's assistant pilot, Schrieck, was also capable of doing that but drew the line at any of the stunts required for filming, which was where Mitch was supposed to come in.

The Terrier wasn't a seaplane, unlike Udet's machines, but the area around Umanak was full of hills and mountains. However, Umanak did boast of a hospital with a landing platform on its roof, and that was where Mitch was supposed to land. The sky was clear enough that Stasi could discern the settlement and the hospital from far away. Her biggest surprise about Greenland so far had been that the ice they'd passed wasn't just white or grey; when Mitch dove deeper, she could spot grottos mirroring the sea in pink, green, blue and violet colors, and there was a shade of pale green weaving in and out of the landmass which must have given it its name.

"Well, I'll be damned," the Berlin ghost said, sounding impressed.

"If that's your point in coming here," Stasi replied. Covering for herself, she added, directed at Mitch, as if continuing the sentence, "Impressing me with the scenery, than it's mission achieved, all the way."

The smell outside that hit them as soon as they emerged from the plane on the roof of the hospital was less pleasant. Whale oil, if Stasi wasn't mistaken. She'd smelled it only once before in her life, but once had been enough. Then there were the sounds of barking dogs, a lot of them, and in between shouts from the two men who must have raced upstairs to the hospital roof within the last few minutes. One was a local, an Eskimo, though Stasi had also heard the term "Inuit" used, and the other couldn't have looked more like an Austrian if he'd shown up with Lederhosen. " _Ein Ösi_ ," noted the ghost with distaste. "Just like - never mind."

"You're the Americans Paul Kohner sent?" the Austrian in question asked in strongly accented English. He gave his name as Hans Schneeberger, while the Inuit with him seemed to bear the unlikely name of Tobias. After Mitch had introduced the two of them as Mr. and Mrs. Sorley, Schneeberger exhaled in relief. "Thank God you're here. Dr. Fanck has been going bonkers. And now Tommy's on the loose, too. I don't suppose either of you has any experience with polar bears?"

While they were still highly wired from the flight, Stasi knew it was just a matter of time before exhaustion would catch up with them, and they'd crash, so her rational mind told her to ask to be shown their quarters first, then sleep. Her instinct, on the other hand, perked up at the word "polar bear". She wondered whether or not to pretend the Countess had grown up with polar bears for pets in Siberia.

"I take it Tommy is the bear?" Mitch asked in the meantime, without answering the question, while Stasi added: "I don't suppose he's British?"

"Nah, straight from Hamburg," the Austrian returned. "We had a hell of a time getting the permits to transport three bears to Greenland, and we had to swear not to let them ever get together with the locals. If we don't get Tommy back, he'll have to be shot."

Mitch swung his arms to get some movement back after all those hours of sitting. "Any reason why you needed to import bears to begin with? Aren't there enough around here?"

"Yeah, sure. And we'd spend the rest of the year trying to get just one good shot with them doing what they're supposed to. If you've got scenes to film where an polar bear swims on shore to raid the tents where all your heroes sleep in, you want that bear under control."

"Well," Stasi pointed out, "it doesn't sound like he's under your control now, but it just so happens you're in luck. I'm an _expert_ at taming bears. It's in my Russian blood."

"No way," the ghost complained. "You're not going to get mauled by a bear here before you get me to bloody Leni Riefenstahl."

It was the first time he revealed more about just what he wanted from this trip in practical terms. Stasi couldn't see the connection between "getting justice" and meeting the leading lady, but it occurred to her that delaying this desire would lead him to, either inadvertently or deliberately, tell her more. Besides, she really wanted to have a go at the bear.

"Are you sure, darling?" Mitch asked, and she smiled at him.

"I'm sure I want to try."

As soon as they'd left the hospital, it was obvious where all the barking came from. Large packs of dogs were circling the building and filling the streets, such as they were. They looked, and sounded, extremely hungry.  
"Of course they are," Tobias said, and pointed to the leather jacket Mitchell was wearing. "They can also smell this. Don't get near them. They'll try to eat it."

"They always try with the leather husks for the camera equipment", Schneeberger agreed. "Look, you don't have to..."

"So if you don't get mauled by a bear, you'll get mauled by dogs," the ghost commented. "Great. Look, doll, it's your life, but you really need to help me with my unfinished business first."

Stasi decided then and there that enough was enough. She'd learned to be firm with ghosts early on in her life; if you weren't, they could literally overwhelm you.

"I don't _need_ to do anything," she declared haughtily. "Favors are just that, favors."

The two men who'd come to welcome them looked confused. Mitch didn't, though. Mitch looked as if he'd just realized something, and he frowned. Something in Stasi twitched. There hadn't been any reason not to tell him about the ghost once they were up in the air at the latest, no reason save for silly game playing and that odd need to prove to herself she could still do it, that loving him hadn't changed her so much as to rob of her of that most quintessential survivor trait: being able to blithely lie not just to strangers and enemies, but to those closest to you.

"Well," Mitch drawled, "I'm beat. You do as you like, but if I get anywhere near a bear right now, I'll be bear dinner, so I'll sleep a few hours." Addressing Tobias, he added: "Care to show me our quarters?"

"Surely," Schneeberger protested while his companion nodded, "you're not leaving the lady alone in a dangerous situation?"

"The lady can handle herself," Mitch replied. "I trust her."

And he did, Stasi knew. That was the enticing, infuriating trouble that had contributed to allowing herself to stay instead of leave after their first adventure together. He knew she was a liar by profession and inclination, and yet, and yet.

"I promise to be kind to the bear, darling," she said out loud, and Mitch gave her a crooked smile.

"I know you will."

The ghost remained suspiciously silent.

A great many of the dogs followed Mitch and Tobias, but this still left plenty to howl behind Stasi while Schneeberger guided her to the part of the bay where Tommy the polar bear had gotten loose. She tried not to let it get to her. Roaming, hungry dogs worried her far more than bears; she couldn't forget the winter of the last war year, when there'd been so much poverty, famine and illness that they'd started to attack the sick and the very young.

But that had been another life time. Another person, who'd not been Stasi at all. She painted a smile on her face and listened to Schneeberger explain how the bears were supposed to be safe in an improvised compound which was formed by cliffs from three sides, with the open sea providing the fourth, and there a net made of wires reaching down to the ground had been preventing the bears from swimming away.

"But Tommy simply dug beneath the net, and that was that. I mean, we were still lucky because Tobias was able to drive him back to the coast, but now he's outside the compound, and, well. Even Dr. Fanck doesn't want _that_ much realism for the 'polar bear raids the tents of the camp' scene. What we need to do is lure Tommy back to his cage. Somehow. So far, he's been unimpressed by meat and noise. Say, are you really Russian, _gnädige Frau_? Because I'd have sworn that's a bit of an Hungarian accent you have."

Bloody Austrians, Stasi thought. They'd know. Though as loud as the dogs were, it was a wonder they even understood each other's words, never mind accents.

"My governess was Hungarian," she said sweetly and in German. "Dear Piroshka. Those were the days."

Despite the barks and howls, she could now hear some human voices yelling and cajoling, while the smell of whale oil and fish grew stronger, and soon she saw a small crowd around a cliff where an evidently unimpressed ice bear had placed himself. The people evidently kept a safe distance, and Tommy the bear saw no reason to pay attention to their antics. Most of them were men, but there were two women as well. Schneeberger, spotting one of them, came to a halt.

"Excuse me," he hastily said to Stasi. "I'll have to report to Dr. Fanck that his new pilot has arrived. Stay here, I'll be with you again shortly."

From the way he quickly strode off in the other direction, it didn't take a genius to conclude it had been the sight of the brunette woman who'd spotted him as well, and now stood with folded arms while Stasi came closer, that had caused him to suddenly remember his message priorities.

"Are you the American pilot?" the woman asked in English. Her accent was so strong that Stasi would have felt over the top using it, and she didn't believe there was such a thing as too much ham as a rule. On the other hand, everything else about the woman felt down to earth. She wore warm, sensible trousers, a knitted hat to cover her head in the cold that Stasi envied, a jacket, and no make-up, so Stasi assumed she was either someone's wife or part of the film crew behind the camera, not in front of it. Her question was interesting. Alma Gilchrist Segura, Stasi's current employer and friend, not only co-owned Gilchrist Aviation together with Mitch, she was also an aviatrix, but that was still so rare no one in the US would have instinctively assumed an unknown pilot could be female instead of male, and while Stasi had left Europe behind years ago, she had no reason to believe it was different there.

"Not me," she said in German. "But I brought him along. I'm the bear expert."  
Why hadn't she said, "I'm his wife"? Because it had yet to feel completely real, or because it felt all too real, and she preferred artifice?

The woman laughed. "Have at it. Nobody's slept the last few nights with Tommy on the prowl, and it's starting to show on camera, mark my word."

"I thought the director is famous for his realism," Stasi said, readjusting her guess as to who the woman might be. "Isn't the movie supposed to be about people stranded on the pole, or something like that? Hollow-eyed looks should help with that."

"But not puffy eyes," her new acquaintance said seriously. "That's just not aesthetic. Now I'm perfectly willing to get on a calving iceberg for Fanck, but there's no way I'll let myself be photographed looking like a swollen, sniffling baby."

The ghost, who until now had been silent and only partly manifested, suddenly grew so tense that he was almost tangible. "It's her," he said, with a disbelieving voice. Until now, Stasi had assumed that since he'd made such a big deal of needing to get to the film set in general and to Leni Riefenstahl in particular, he'd already known her and thus would recognize her on sight, but apparently not.

"I'd better start with my project then," she said lightly. "Excuse me."

Moving away, starting to make a wide circle around the bear, she heard the ghost protest that they needed to stick with Riefenstahl, because he wanted to possess her. "And this helps you get justice for your death how?" Stasi asked. "Or is it a last wish you had? One can take fan adoration too far, you know."

As she'd hoped, this provoked him into finally coming clean about what he hadn't told her yet. "Adoration my ass. I've never even seen her in the flicks! Look, it's not about her, it's about who she has access to. Those thugs showing up at the dance hall where I got killed, they acted on orders. The lawyer my folks and the other joint plaintiffs hired tried to prove that, and he even got the guy in question on the stand. Made him sweat, too. But that bastard judge then - well, he got away scot free, bloody Hitler did. And now he's the new chancellor, since January, would you believe that! Anyway, the thing is, I've been trailing him ever since. Tried to spook him first, but that didn't work, and then I tried to get into someone around him, but they all feel like someone sealed them off, if you know what I mean. So I figured I needed someone outside of his circle whom he still let come close. And wouldn't you know, some months ago he gets a letter from this actress about how she's seen him speak and he's the greatest, future of Germany and what not, and hey, he loves movies. And people swooning over him. So basically, he's going to meet her once she gets back from shooting on the ice. And whatever it is that seals off the people around him to me, she doesn't have it. So I figure this is my one chance. Possess her, shoot him as soon as he shows up for that meeting, and then move on at last."

Stasi hadn't been in Germany for many years. There'd been _something_ in the news this year about yet another head of government there - the third or fourth in three years, but not much, and she'd been paying even less attention. On the other hand, she dimly recalled someone named Hitler making an aborted attempt at a coup back when she _had_ been in Germany last, but it had been a very provincial affair, limited to the capital of Bavaria, and getting only sniggers of derision in Berlin where she'd been staying. In any case, bad news or not, she didn't enable possession without consent as a rule. On the other hand, she was too experienced to immediately tell the dead man that he'd have to revise his idea of what getting justice for his death should entail. Ghosts were like any other clients. You had to lead them on as long as you could if you wanted to get something out of them.

"Look," she said, "I sympathize, truly I do, though right now, I couldn't channel a wailing waif, let alone an adult. I think the flight _is_ catching up with me. But as long as this bear is loose, I wouldn't dare to sleep anymore than these people do. So why don't you help me there first?"

"Help you how?" the ghost asked warily.

"Animals can sense ghosts," Stasi explained. "Trust me, they can. And if the ghosts are aggressive, they give chase. Manifest yourself around the bear, drive him into the cage, and we're good."

The ghost grumbled something about not being a circus artist, but eventually, he complied. Stasi couldn't resist the chance to make a big production out of it. She danced around the cliff to the bewildered astonishment of the film people and loudly sang a few Czech songs she declared to be Russian bear lullabies while the ghost first yelled at Tommy the bear and then, emboldened, pulled at his fur. Tommy first shook his head left and right, which Stasi timed the rhythm of her lullabies to, and the finally got up from his cliff, going downwards. Among the gasps of the film crew, he first trotted, then raced in the direction of his old cage. At some point, the ghost forgot he was invulnerable now and ran as well, only to be overtaken by Tommy who demonstrated bears were incredibly fast and proceeded right through the dead man. When the cage door slammed down behind the bear, everyone clapped and whooped. Stasi took a bow, then curtsied for good measure.

"By god, you're a genius!" the returned Schneeberger cried.

"She's certainly something," Leni Riefenstahl commented, not hostile, but somewhat jaundiced. Stasi couldn't tell whether the undertone in the actress' voice was scepticism or approval.  
"You've got some training as a dancer, haven't you?" Leni Riefenstahl asked her. "I'm a dancer myself, so I can tell."

"Oh, I'm just a humble amateur," Stasi demurred. "In everything."

The other woman smiled thinly. "There is nothing amateur about this level of showmanship, Miss...?"

"Mrs. Sorley," Schneeberger interjected hastily, "time to show you to your quarters, yes? You must be really exhausted by now."

She actually was, and didn't find it hard to produce a timely yawn, barely hidden behind a hastily raised hand.

"See you later, then," the actress said. Invisible to her, the ghost nodded eagerly.


	5. Chapter 5

V.

Since there hadn't been plans for new arrivals, all the tents the film crew had brought with them, over 40 all in all, were packed full. Which was why Mitch and Stasi had been placed in the small wooden church, though Mitch was supposed to proceed to Udet's camp the next morning with Leni Riefenstahl, pick up the "Moth" there, Udet's famous plane he'd volunteered to be crashed on an ice berg for the film's most dangerous stunt, and fly back to the coordinates provided for the filming. It probably said something about pilots, Mitch thought, that the part of this which gave him trouble was the idea of destroying a legendary plane for the benefit of a few movie minutes.

He'd thought the barking dogs would keep him from falling asleep, but as it turned out, they didn't. A few minutes after being shown the improvised bed, Mitch drifted away, without bothering to get undressed first; spring in Greenland meant it was still far too cold for that. When he woke up, it was due to battery gunfire filling the air. At least, that was what it sounded like to him when he shot up, heart pumping. For a moment, Mitch was back in the war, every sense alert, and then he smelled Stasi's perfume, felt her warmth, and knew it was 1933, and any war was in the past.

The battery gunfire noise continued, though.

Stasi, who'd woken up a bit more slowly, sat up as well. "What on earth?" she said, then tilted her head. "Ah," she added. "Seems that's what it sounds like when a glacier calves."

"Your ghost tell you that?" Mitch asked, watching her. Her face fell, and inwardly, he sighed. He'd seen her interact with ghosts often enough to know what it looked like from the outside, and he'd have guessed sooner, except that he couldn't think of a good reason why she wouldn't have mentioned it. He could think of a few bad ones, though.

"I can't be without my lighter," he said to Stasi. "Lighting matches won't do. There isn't any real reason for that. I mean, sure, fire is my gift, and the lighter works as a focus, but in theory, it could be any lighter, any cigarette. But I need the one I carried through the war. I always thought the stupid thing kept me safe."

She hummed a little, but said nothing. No matter how little or how much they'd slept, there was daylight outside, and so he could see fine lines around her mouth, and around her dark eyes, which were wide open. The tenderness they evoked threatened to overwhelm him.

"We all have our crutches to survive," Mitch said. "Things we keep back, just in case. Maybe one day you won't feel you need them anymore, with me. Until then, I'll wait." With a grin, he added: "And keep my lighter."

She kissed him then, expertly and thoroughly. The boy he'd been before the war would have responded differently, Mitch knew; he'd have felt betrayed by the idea his girl would keep secrets from him, or even lie, he'd have insisted on knowing the truth immediately and, if it turned out to be trouble, on fixing said trouble. That boy had died, in a way, with so many others, and in his place was a man who'd learned what pain you couldn't share felt like, what humiliation was, and shame.

"You can keep your lighter," Stasi murmured sometime later, when she'd caught her breath, "but I'll tell you all about Max Schirmer, ghost from Berlin. On the way to the beach, because come on - a calving iceberg? This we've got to watch."

It turned out to be a quite a spectacle, too. The tidal waves around the shuddering floating mountain made of ice were at least five metres high, racing towards the beach, and the deafening noise coming from the ice meant no one else heard them despite them nearly shouting into each other's ears. When Stasi had finished her story, Mitch didn't know what to say. On the one hand, he thought that you couldn't possibly hand over another human being to be possessed; that went against everything the Lodge stood for, and was the kind of abuse of psychic powers they fought against. Leaving aside his own missing months, and the way he'd felt the pull of the necklace later, he'd witnessed Henry in the grip of an entity, murdering on its behalf, and it had been terrifying. On the other hand, he also sympathized with a murder victim wanting to see the man ultimately responsible for his death punished, not put in charge of his entire country, and it looked like the legal way to do that had already failed. It was easy to declare "revenge is wrong" if you were an outsider and not the person who'd just been looking for a good time dancing and ended up killed for no reason. It would be good to give Schirmer something to help him find peace. Just not this. But what?

"Hell of a thing," Mitch said, eyes on the ice breaking away.

"There you are," a female voice said behind them in English with a strong German accent. "Well recovered from the journey, I hope? Because Fanck insists we're doing the crash tomorrow. The locals predict the weather will change in two or three days, and he's afraid of losing another week shooting nothing at all. Honestly, I wouldn't mind finishing this, too."

At her first words, Mitch and Stasi had turned around, and he found Leni Riefenstahl much as Stasi had described her.

"Oh, I'm game," Mitch said genially. "But I'm surprised you're in such a hurry to leave - chances are none of us will ever be in this part of the world again, right?"

"Probably not," she replied. "But I've been shooting on glaciers for Fanck for five years now, and frankly, much as I like the mountains back home, I'm ready for a change of scenery. Besides, I think I'm done with acting and being bossed about by some man who thinks he's god."

"It's more fun to do the bossing around yourself," Stasi agreed. "I've heard you've started to direct as well."

Leni Riefenstahl's face lit up. "Did you see _The Blue Light_? I gave Joe a print and made him promise he'd show it to some US distributors, but I didn't think he'd kept his word."

Stasi, having no idea who "Joe" was supposed to be, shook her head. "Alas no. Paul Kohner told a mutual friend, the one who suggested Mitch for your film here."

The animation went out of the actress' face again, and for a moment, she looked downright sullen. Then she sighed. "Ah well. I guess I should have expected this. The Berlin press did its best to trash it, and after that, there was no chance anyone else would care. But that's going to change. The entire industry will."

"Better chances for female directors?" Stasi asked.

"No more Jews," Leni Riefenstahl retorted. It was said so casually, so self-evidently, that it took Mitch a moment to register just what she'd said. By now, she sounded good humored again, chatting downright breezily, and continuing in the same vein. "They're everywhere, of course, controlling the reviews just like they do film production. But not much longer. We've got a new government now, cleaning out the swamp, on every level. The next film I'll direct won't be trashed by some snooty Berlin Jew, I can tell you that."

Growing up in the South, Mitch was hardly unfamiliar with any of the sentiments the German actress had just voiced. Replace "Berlin" with "New York", cut the part about directing movies, and it could have been his uncle talking. Serving with guys from everywhere, including Jews from New York, trusting them with his life had made Mitch decide such ideas were rubbish, many years before encountering Stasi and falling in love with her. But listening now, he was keenly aware Stasi was standing right beside him, Stasi, who must have heard these kind of sentiments from childhood onwards, only directed at herself.

At first, he didn't know what to do. He would have if Miss Riefenstahl had been Mr. Riefenstahl. A guy insults your wife's people, you tell him to stop, and if he doesn't, you either leave his company or deck him. Leaving was currently not an option.

"What about this movie's producers?" Mitch asked slowly. "The ones paying your salary? Aren't they Jews?  
"

"Which is precisely my point," Leni Riefenstahl replied without hesitation. "I mean, Paul Kohner is a nice guy as far as it goes, don't get me wrong, but should that kind of people really have power over true artists? You just can't trust them, not really."

It came to him then, what to say. Mitch was slow to anger, and didn't often act on impulse. There were, however, always exceptions to every rule.

"Well, _I'm_ Jewish," he told her. "And seeing as we're supposed to crash in an air plane together tomorrow, it seems there's certainly going to be a trust problem on _someone_ 's part, Ma'am."

For a moment, she looked at him questioningly, as if trying to decide whether or not he was serious. Then she frowned. "There was no need to be rude," she said rebukingly. "You people are just too sensitive. Can't you take a joke?" With that, she turned on her heels, and left the beach.

Stasi grimaced. "Well, that has certainly told us," she muttered.

"I'm sorry," Mitch said, thinking of how wearingly every day such a display must have felt to Stasi, and her mouth curved. "For what, never telling me about your secret Jewish identity?"

"I thought it was obvious," he retorted. "What, you can't see this fine head with a kippah?"

"I could see it in a yarmulke," she said. "Some day. But not here. It's too cold here for either. Come on, Schirmer wants to talk to us, and there are too many people on the beach to do it here."

Mitch wanted to check on the Terrier anyway, to ensure it had been refilled with enough petrol, so they walked towards the hospital, with dogs on their trail again. En route, Stasi translated for the ghost who thought that surely, now that she'd displayed her prejudices, they didn't object to him possessing Leni Riefenstahl anymore.

"It's not that simple," Mitch said. "We've - well, I've sworn oaths. And they didn't have a get-out clause saying abuse of psychic powers is okay if the other party is an asshole. Look at it this way: taking over someone's body against their will, that sure sounds like rape to me, and that's leaving aside you want to use her to kill someone which basically frames her for murder into the bargain. Back in the war, I wouldn't have let someone under my command rape a German. And they were trying their best to kill us then."

"Max says he's not under your command and that I'm not either," Stasi stated. Noting with approval that the Terrier had been cleaned up since they'd arrived, Mitch looked at her.

"And what do _you_ say?" he asked quietly. Stasi had joined their Lodge by now, but she'd come from another tradition. And she most definitely had her own rules.

Suddenly he thought: what if she wants to do it? What if she does help this Max Schirmer to possess that woman? He'd never have tried to keep Stasi from, say, stealing again if that was what she wanted; he'd trust her not to take from anyone who couldn't afford it, and to think the consequences through, balancing whether it was worth the risk with the allure. But while Mitch generally believed in the law, it wasn't sacred to him the way Lodge work and the oaths that came with it was. And there simply was a difference. A difference between indulging in a taste for stolen jewelry and enabling the utter violation possession against someone's will meant. That he loved Stasi didn't alter this fact. If she chose to help Schirmer with this, he'd have to fight her.

He swallowed. The memory of Jeff still burned, Jeff who'd been his dearest friend outside the Lodge and who'd turned into someone killing with joy, screaming hate at him the last time Mitch had seen him, dragged away by police. And Mitch couldn't even blame possession for all that, not after what he'd found out. No, it was Jeff himself. Which tainted all the memories of their time together, too. In a way, he'd lost his friend not just in the present and for the future, but in the past, too.

Falling in love with Stasi had been easy and terrifying at the same time. He'd never expected her to love him back, had been telling himself he'd be content to be her friend, that this was enough of a gift to have, when the war had left him crippled, in a way Jeff had crudely but not inaccurately described as having gotten his balls shot off. But Stasi, fearless Stasi, had not only found out more about his body than he'd ever known himself, she'd also decided to love him, and sometimes the joy of that still left him breathless. Losing her in the way he'd lost Jeff would be unbearable.

 _And for what_ , a treacherous voice in him whispered. _For a stranger who just spouted casual hate, and for some politician who'd been responsible for violence and death already on his way to power. Why not look the other way there, just this once? Let it happen, if she truly wants to do it. Never talk about it again. Don't lose that happiness, now that it's finally yours. Just don't._

Saving the world is rarely a feel-good business, Gil had once said. But you can't ignore it when it starts to hurt. If we don't do it, then who will?

Stasi didn't smile. She reached out and took his chin in her hands.

"I say we're on our honeymoon. And asking a girl to work on her honeymoon, now that's just rude."


	6. Chapter 6

VI.

The actual filming of the crash would take place near a small settlement called Nugatsiak, as a suitably stable iceberg was in the immediate vicinity. Mitch was supposed to fly to Udet's camp with Leni Riefenstahl, pick up the Moth, then return and crash the Moth at the iceberg in question, with the crew getting Riefenstahl and Mitch out of the icy water afterwards. Fanck was already on site, having departed immediately once he knew he had his replacement pilot, but Schneeberger, who was still grateful for the bear taming, offered to take Stasi with him when he joined the director, so she could watch and know Mitch was fine immediately afterwards.

"Oh, and if I were you, I'd, um, wear rubber pants. We all do here. It's impossible to be out for long without getting wet, no matter whether you're on a boat or on a glacier. Mr. Sorley can have some of mine, but you'll have to ask Leni for some of hers."

Stasi raised an eyebrow. "Rubber pants come in gender editions?"

"It's not that," Schneeberger said matter-of-factly. "It's that I'm twice your size, and you'll want them to be tight, trust me. Anyway, Leni has plenty, since Fanck didn't want to risk her getting sick. Just ask her."

"Yeah, why don't you become underwear-swapping chums," the ghost commented bitterly. Max Schirmer's outrage and disappointment hadn't abated since he'd heard her reply to Mitch. He'd then disappeared for a while, had, she assumed, tried on his own to perform a possession, and had found out what she could have told him: without any additional magic boost and faced with an unwilling, pig-headed opponent like the Riefenstahl woman, he was bound to fail.

"Mitch wasn't wrong about what unasked for possession is like, you know," Stasi said quietly while walking in the direction of Leni Riefenstahl's tent.

"I'm not a goddamn rapist," Schirmer raged. "Never in my life - but I'm not alive anymore, am I? And whose fault is that? Anyway, it's not like rape. It's like dressing up in someone else's clothes."

"Trust me, it's really, really not."

"And how would you know? You're not a ghost. And don't tell me someone did it to you. You feel like a fortress."

"A long, long time ago," Stasi said, and the ever present howls and barkings nearly drowned out her words, "someone died. I loved her, I didn't want to let her go, and so I didn't. I made her stay. Stay with me. I took the essence that was her and forced her inside me. Forced, because you see, she didn't want to stay. Not at all. But I wasn't listening to anything but my own grief and need. That's how I found out people are wrong about how Dybbuks are made. Not when a dead person wants to possess the living. When a living person who has the power without any of the common sense refuses to let go of the dead."

The ghost fell silent. He became almost translucent, with the dirty snow of the road shimmering through him. But he didn't vanish, not even when she'd reached the tent, which turned out to be equipped with some basic furniture made of wooden crates and a carpet made of dog fur. Leni Riefenstahl was already dressed in clothing that very much resembled Alma's when she was working; Stasi recalled that the character Riefenstahl was playing was a pilot. Having had a lifetime of experience with the type, she didn't expect the other woman to apologize for her earlier remarks. Undoubtedly, in the actress' mind, she was the one who had been treated rudely. Nonetheless, Stasi was surprised at the chipperness with which she was greeted.

"Ah, it's the raven haired beauty! Say, have you ever considered acting? That's why I asked whether you had training as a dancer when we met. You do have charisma and showmanship. Look, I'm really proud of _The Blue Light_ , but I was directing myself there, and it was exhausting even for me. So my next one will probably star someone else."

Stasi could read people very well, not due to her psychic gifts but due to powers of observation she'd honed through all her life. There was absolutely no sign Leni Riefenstahl was feigning the cheerful tone in which she asked, or the friendly, eager expression on her face. It was, Stasi thought, as if nothing but the present and her own needs existed in this woman's head; she didn't assume anyone would be less than delighted at the prospect of starring in a movie because she herself would have been, because that was what she wanted, and because anything else like an inconvenient insult had been rewritten as a joke if it was remembered at all.

"It's a bit late in life for a change of profession for me," Stasi said neutrally.

"Nonsense! It never is. Just look at me. Every time someone told me I wouldn't be able to do something, I did it anyway. Of course there are obstacles. You should have seen Fanck's face when I told him I was going to direct. He couldn't decide between "but you're a woman", "but you're an actress" and "but I own you". I showed him. And honestly, if Joe von Sternberg can make a second rate bit of plump flesh like Marlene into a star, I can do that for much more promising material. I've got his camera man already, and I've made him tell me all his tricks."

"I'll think about it," Stasi said, to put an end to the topic. "For now, a pair of rubber pants would do."

Leni Riefenstahl sighed. "So prosaic. You've been in America for too long." But she did go to the small cupboard furnished from wooden box material and provided the longed for underwear.

Stasi was tempted to reply that no one had ever accused her of being prosaic before. But there was something else she needed from Riefenstahl. "Trust me, everyone in the US wants to be in the movies," she returned instead. "It's the Russian in me that's cautious. Would you mind if I read cards for you? I dabble. It was something to pass away the time when we were hiding from Bolsheviks in the Datscha."

She had rarely met someone who was as uninterested in the Countess' tragic past as Leni Riefenstahl was, who simply ignored any of the cues Stasi provided. The other woman shrugged.

"Oh, why not? I do have a soft spot for mysticism."

Stasi's main reason for this was that the woman was about to participate in a plane crash with Mitch, and while she trusted Mitch's skills to execute this insane stunt, it couldn't hurt to reassure herself. Of course, she could have read the cards for him on her own, but it helped if the person whose future was concerned was actually present. As she'd once explained to Lewis, precognition was based on recognizing patterns. The future was always in motion, and to a degree could be altered, but if someone was weaving a pattern around them, you could follow the strings with a great degree of accuracy.

Her other reason had to do with the still present Max Schirmer. The ghost maintained his silence, not just in terms of words but of body language. He had been reducing himself to his outlines. But there he had stopped. Either he was still hoping she'd change her mind, despite what she had told him, or he simply wasn't ready to go yet.

Using the tarot pack she always carried with her, she first shuffled, then made Leni Riefenstahl reshuffle it and pick three cards, then three cards more. Laying these out opposite each other on a wooden-box-cum-table, Stasi found the Chariot, the Wheel of Fortune, The Tower, The Star, the Emperor and Judgment. She stared at the icy mountains and tidal waves of the Judgment card and frowned.

"Well?" Leni Riefenstahl asked, sounding both curious and impatient.

"If you continue on your current way," Stasi said, dispensing with the explanation about what the symbolism of the individual cards actually meant, and simplifying the pattern for herself as much as for Riefenstahl, "all your dreams will come true - for a while. Fame, power in your chosen field, they will be yours, and what you create will never be forgotten. But then fame will turn into infamy. Fall. You will never do what you do best again. On the other hand, if you choose another way, you will never reach the heights of fame, but neither will you ever lose the chance to work, nor will you lose respect. You'll choose life or death as an ally, and depending on your choice, the way will follow. But the chance to alter that choice will pass soon."

Today, the pilot's cap she wore hid all of Leni Riefenstahl's brown curls, and her face, which outdoors, set against the ever present snow, had looked tanned, now appeared curiously white beneath it. After pondering what Stasi had said, she peered at the cards as well, then at Stasi's face, as if to discern whether or not Stasi was serious.

"Hm," Riefenstahl said at last. "It's Achilles' choice, isn't it? Fame and brief, blazing glory against a long life as a mediocrity. Well, I've always favored fire."

"Achilles came to believe he chose wrongly, though", Stasi replied.

"No, he didn't!" Leni Riefenstahl protested. "I know my Greek myths!"

"It's in the Odyssey," Stasi pointed out. "When Odysseus meets his shade in the underworld, Achilles says he'd give all his fame and glory for a long life as a farmer."

Riefenstahl wrinkled her nose. "Well, Odysseus always was a liar. I'm sure he made that up."

Stasi shrugged, and collected her cards. Beneath her calm demeanor, her heart was pounding. It wasn't that she'd lied herself right now. But she had left things out. The pattern this woman was fast becoming a part of if she remained on her path was something that felt worse than anything Stasi had ever sensed before, and she'd encountered death and destruction galore. There was a sticky, all consuming blindness to it, a greedy nothingness stretching out to swallow life whole.

She'd given her warning. Stasi didn't believe in choosing for other people. She'd make that mistake once, in the worst way, and she would never do so again. As to the immediate future, though...

"Why haven't you refused to do this crash scene?" Stasi asked with genuine curiosity. "It's not like your director could fire and replace you at this point. And you don't want to go on acting for him anyway. Why take the risk?"  
Riefenstahl laughed, a careless, girlish laugh that made her look younger.

"Because I've never done it before! Isn't that the best reason for anything?"

For a moment, Stasi saw herself mirrored there. The devil-may-care thrill seeking that was also in her. Sometimes, she'd wondered who she would have been if she'd been born into a different life, a different background. Then again, she'd shed so many guises she didn't find fitting that she didn't want to believe she'd ever have chosen this one. And it was a choice. It always was.

As she left the tent, Max Schirmer muttered, Berlin accent stronger than ever: "Never mind fame, nice to have a choice between life and death at all. Some of us didn't."

"You're making the same mistake she just did," Stasi replied. "The choice isn't between living and dying yourself. That's never entirely in our own hands, though it should be. No, it's between working for life, and working for death. I don't know much about your life, Max. But I'd like to think it wasn't all about spreading a death cult."

"What? No, it wasn't. I was a worker. Who tried to have a good time with his mates in the Eden when the goddamn Nazis stormed in."

"There you go, darling. It's a bloody shame it ended this way, but how to handle that is still your choice. I didn't bring you along just to disappoint you. There's a reason why I didn't tell you outright I don't do possessions. I thought it would be nice for you to see something splendid before you cross over, and, well, the scenery here can't be topped."

"I'm not a la-di-da tourist," he grumbled.

"And you could save a life before you go. It helps with the crossing over."

The future was always in motion, and as skilled a pilot as Mitch was, there were about a thousand things that could go wrong if you crashed a plane on an iceberg and fell into the icy sea. As she'd feared, there was no certainty in the cards. None.

"You - you're really something, doll. First you and your man make out that I'm a goddamn rapist if I use that bitch to kill fucking Hitler, and now I'm supposed to play guardian angel for you?"

"Well, I don't know about you," Stasi said. "But going out as a life saving hero strikes me as a good curtain call to take."

He was silent again. Shortly before she'd reached the wooden church where she could change her clothes, he asked: "What happened to... you know, the dead woman you locked into your body?"

The horror and the shame of that time were firmly locked in a chamber of her mind she usually never opened. But for a moment, Stasi allowed herself a look.

"We drove each other insane, and then I finally let her go. The memory of her joy and relief when she left burns me still."

There was nothing of frivolous, light hearted or ironic in her voice, nothing that formed a part of being Stasi, as she added: "If it was her who left. Before we parted, I had lost all sense as to which of us I was. And that, Max, is the price you pay if you force a possession."


	7. Chapter 7

VII.

Igloswid offered the only flat, sandy beach available, which was why Udet, Schrieck and their mechanics had set up camp there with their planes that depended on a water landing. Mitch spent the flight from Umanuk to Igloswid in near silence, with the motor noise and the need to concentrate providing a good excuse not to take Leni Riefenstahl up on her repeated attempts at conversation. She finally stopped, but kept watching him.

In Igloswid, he encountered dogs first as well, and Udet's mechanics who hardly spoke any English, except for one who introduced himself as the second pilot, Franz Schrieck. Udet himself was nowhere in sight, which was something of a let down, as Mitch had hoped for an encounter.

"Damn, Udi really must be sick," Riefenstahl commented. "No way he'd hand over his plane to a stranger without instructions otherwise."

Schrieck said sorely: "He is. And there's no doctor here!"

"There is no doctor in Nugaitsiak, either, and the one in Umanak only seems to have medicine to cure the clap," Leni Riefenstahl remarked artlessly. "Fanck was bitching about that to me every time I as much as sneezed."

"Anyway, he did want to get up to greet you," Schrieck said to Mitch. "But we tied him down. His fever is still running high, and if he doesn't sweat it out now, he'll stay sick for months." He looked past Mitch to the Terrier, and a wide smile appeared on his face. "Gilchrist Aviation! Damn, Ernst was right! See, we were at the National Air Races in Los Angeles, too. With the Flamingo. When they radioed us your name, Ernst said if you were really dumb enough to try that stunt, you had to be an ace as well, and that the Gilchrist pilot was one."

Mitch couldn't help himself, he felt flattered. He did recall the Flamingo at the National Air Races, which, in accordance with the restrictions put on German air planes by the Versailles treaty, only had a motor capable of 100 PS, and thus couldn't compete in speed. But what Udet had done with his lightweight of a machine in terms of sheer artistry had been amazing. To indicate his admiration, he brought up some of the manoeuvres he'd observed that day, and Schrieck damn near purred.

"Mind you," he said, "now that we'll get rid of the Versailles restrictions, we _will_ be able to truly compete again."

"Will you?"

"You better believe it," Schrieck said. "The new chancellor has promised."

"And he'll keep his word," Leni Riefenstahl interfered. "He's a man of destiny."

Who sent thugs into dance halls, Mitch thought, but didn't say. He had a job to do, a job he'd agreed to, and arguing now would be pointless.

The technicians and Schrieck gave him the essentials about the Moth, complete with instructions to wait for the red flare from Fanck before approaching the agreed upon coordinates. Schrieck would follow in a second plane together with one of the camera men. They practiced a few times on the beach how Mitch could avoid being in the picture, given that there wasn't much room. "Fanck already has some footage of Leni flying, but he'd love a close-up of the crash," Schrieck said. "So I'll be hard on your tail, but once the explosion happens, I'll have to keep a minimum safe distance. So get as low as you can before the crash, and remember, stay out of sight until Leni has jumped."

"And Colonel Udet truly doesn't mind losing his plane to a movie?" Mitch asked, because that still seemed the most implausible aspect of it all.

"It was paid for," Schrieck replied laconically. "And like I said - soon we'll get something better. Okay, children, time to get a move on."

Leni Riefenstahl climbed into the copilot seat. As Schrieck went around the plane to start the motor, she turned to Mitch and said: "Listen, we're both professionals, right? I really don't mind that you're a Jew as long as you do your job."

She truly was just like Uncle Ben, who'd told his dentist precisely this and had been surprised when Dr. Goldstein refused to treat him thereafter.

Flying the Moth across the ice immediately felt different from the Terrier. Schrieck had warned him off the blue ice under the surface water. It was crystal clear, which meant it was near invisible from above, and destructive to the bottom of the plane if one tried an emergency sea landing, "just in case you have to". Then there were the floating glaciers with their grottos, towers and gates where he was supposed to dive in between en route to the crash point. Flying close enough to make it look dangerous for the camera, but not so close to actually risk contact.

Well, he'd always liked a challenge.

As he got a sense of the plane, Mitch forgot his annoyance about Riefenstahl and her casual anti-semitism, he forgot his lingering unease about the ghost, and even his blinding gratitude to fate that Stasi had turned out to be Stasi and had not even hesitated in making her decision. There was only the flight, the need for precision and the breathtaking here and now. Soon, he'd spotted the right angle to dive between the icy arches. He started to experiment, pulling the Moth up long walls of ice, then letting it drop abruptly. It was glorious. When he saw two ice towers standing close to each other, he judged the distance between them just correctly enough for the Moth to get through. He was already half there when he spotted a third tower coming up just behind the left, but more in the middle. He only had a split second to turn the plane 45 degrees around and fly through the much smaller space left through the third tower.

Next to him, Leni Riefenstahl shouted something, but he couldn't understand her and didn't try to. The plane squeezed through, not even scratching the ice. Mitch exhaled. He flew only straight forward for a while after that, until he spotted the three red flares that signaled he was to approach the crash zone.

The flares allowed him to focus more strongly, and not just as a pilot. Mitch didn't have Lewis's and Stasi's gift of precognition, and water was Jerry's element, not his. But fire, any form of fire spoke to him, and it allowed him to access patterns. He could see it now, the narrow patch that would allow him to crash the plane without destroying it immediately, providing the time to jump to safety, the exact speed he'd have to slow down to. Since they'd crossed the markers indicating the cameras from the ground would now be able to film the pilot, Mitch contorted his body the way they'd practiced on the ground in order to allow Riefenstahl to be seen seemingly alone. Inevitably, he looked at her while doing so. Since he was both highly alert and tuned into all powers he had, he saw it now, for the first time. Saw what Stasi must have seen while reading the cards that she'd mentioned. It was a net, with Riefenstahl just one of the knotted points, a net made of nothingness, not even dark, but empty. It made you feel blind the longer you looked at it, and for a moment he couldn't see anything anymore.

Couldn't see anything while racing straight into the iceberg.

" _Reiß dich zusammen, Ami!"_ someone yelled at him, a male voice he'd never heard before. He didn't understand the words, but the tone was enough. Mitch blinked, and the patterns were gone. There was only the ice, now looming as if it wanted to absorb them. He was able to slow down the machine a bit more, and then he heard the noise every pilot feared, that tearing, deafening noise that told you that you and your machine were done for. Almost immediately, flames exploded from the engine.

He had to hand it to Riefenstahl. She didn't panic. As practiced, she got out of her seat, profile set off against the flames the way only an actress would know... or a director. After counting precisely three beats, she jumped. Mitch felt the plane falling apart, and it cost him all the discipline he had not to immediately jump with her. This meant he couldn't focus on keeping the fire small, and sure enough, there was another exlosion. Before it could reach him, he felt the connection to another mind, someone boosting his power the way it happened when the Lodge worked together. He didn't ask, didn't wonder, he just took, and it kept the fire away from him while he crawled out of his hiding place and jumped as well.

The fall could only have taken a few seconds, but they seemed endless. Then Mitch felt engulfed by immediate, utter weight. Cold, too, but up in the air it hadn't been warm, either. It was the weight, the wetness that took his breath away. _Sorley, you stupid, stupid bastard,_ , he imagined Gil shouting at him, _I can't believe it you've made it through the war for this!_

Mitch pushed his arms upwards and felt the water part. Oxygen burned in his lungs again like fire. Somewhere close by, people screamed.

"Mitch! Mitch!"

He spotted the boat then, the boat with quite a few people in it who were frantically waving and yelling, but he only saw Stasi. Mitch pushed himself towards her, ignoring the way his body weight suddenly seemed to have quadrupled, and when he got pulled upwards into the boat by Stasi and Schneeberger, he saw fire again, this time entirely imaginary fire, yet those pesky flames threatened to burn inside his lids regardless. Mitch drew another breath, then just remained where he was, lying on the boat's floor.

"If I ever say I want to do something this idiotic again," he said to Stasi, "just hit me on the head, will you?"

"Oh, I can think of something less obvious and more painful," she said sweetly. Then he felt her arms around him.

"You did very well, Mr. Sorley," Schneeberger told him. "Dr. Fanck was most pleased."

Belatedly, it occurred to Mitch to check whether Leni Riefenstahl had made it into the boat as well, and sure enough, there she was on the other side, getting blankets wrapped around her and chatting merrily away. In German, so he couldn't have understood her if he'd tried.

He remembered that German voice that had saved him from freezing mid crash, and softly asked Stasi: "What about... your Berlin friend?"

"Gone now," she whispered into his ear. "It happened the moment you got out of the water."

"He did good," Mitch murmured, then fell into silence, taking in the world around him once more; the ice, shimmering blue and in some places downright pinkish, the smell of burning petrol that had to come from the speedily sinking wreckage of the Moth, and Stasi pressing into him from behind.

It's a miracle to be alive, Mitch thought. Good lord, but it's a miracle to be alive.

* * *

 **Historical Footnotes** : SOS Iceberg was a German-American film directed by Arnold Fanck, produced by Paul Kohner and starring Leni Riefenstahl. By the time it premiered in Germany, 30th August 1933, all the names of the Jewish participants had been removed from the credits, and when she took her bow at the premiere, Leni Riefenstahl gave the Hitler salute, something Paul Kohner (who was present) never forgot or forgave her for, as she found out after the war.

(By that time, Leni Riefenstahl was notorious as the director of "Triumph of the Will" and the Olympia movies, aka some of the most effective, and certainly the most technically innovative propaganda movies to come out of the Third Reich.)

Leni Riefenstahl did write to Hitler just before embarking on the shooting of "SOS Iceberg" , but in reality, he was so intrigued that he arranged to meet her for the first time immediately before her departure, not after. Another adjustment I made to the historical schedule concerns the time of shooting in Greenland; while production for "SOS Iceberg" which started in the summer of 1932 in Greenland didn't end until the spring of 1933, the spring of 1933 shootings were done in Switzerland. However, Mitch and Stasi marry in the winter of 1932/1933, which was my reason for the change.

Ernst Udet was of course in reality the sole pilot responsible for all the flying in "SOS Iceberg"; and yes, Arnold Fanck did make him and Leni Riefenstahl do a genuine air plane crash on an iceberg. (Given Fanck also in previous movies had Riefenstahl fall into glaciers and be in the way of actual avalanches, this was not unusual directorial behavior for him.)

At the Tanzpalast Eden Trial in 1931, Hitler was indeed put on the stand and interrogated by Hans Litten, the lawyer hired by several of the victims of the SA _Rollkommando_ attack on a popular dance hall, and their families. Litten paid a terrible price after the Nazis came to power; five years in various concentration camps until he committed suicide.


End file.
